


Twelve Little Soldiers, All In A Row

by lightly



Category: EXOPlanet
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightly/pseuds/lightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legend says the Guardians will come, split into two groups they will work together to unite the Tree of Life and unite the world. Shame the legends were wrong. The Guardians were not just split into two groups, they were scattered, and now they are lost and alone with no knowledge of who and what they are. Time is running out, for them and for the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 

I.

 

When Wu Fan wakes up it takes him a moment to work out where he is, it takes a few moments more to remember who he is, what his name is supposed to be.

He had that dream again. The one that’s so vivid, so real that it makes a mockery of the real world and the lies he tells in it. The one that leaves him feeling exhausted before he’s even gotten up to face the day.

He knows he needs to get up now, now that he knows who and where he is. Now that he feels steady enough to attempt standing. He shouldn’t lie here covered in his sweat slicked sheets much longer. But images from the dream still haunt him; keep him rooted to the spot. There is this irrational part of him that thinks that if he gets up out of bed he will fly away. 

The dream wasn’t even about flying, not really.

So he doesn’t move, he just lies there watching the meagre morning light creep in through the crack in the curtains. He guesses that it’s sometime close to 6am, but he doesn’t turn to look at the clock next to the bed to verify this. It doesn’t really matter, it’s still too early. If he just closes his eyes maybe he’ll get lucky and doze dreamlessly for the hour he has before his alarm goes off. If he’s lucky, maybe the dream will let him rest.

Funny how he’s starting to think of the dream as something real, something solid.

Funny.

 

 

It’s not the shrieking of the alarm that wakes him who knows how long later. It’s not the sound of someone pounding on the door and it’s not the sharp bark of someone shouting his name.

“Kev! Hey, yo KEV!”

It was the dream that woke him. It was the roots of the tree that wrapped themselves around his heart and squeezed until he thought he might burst. It was the chanting of the monks and the eyes of the old man. Those eyes, they seemed to look straight through him. 

Wu Fan jerks awake, the words of the old man still ringing in his ears.

“Take heed, young one. It is coming.”

He needs to get up. He needs to get out now. Get out of this room, this place, needs to get someplace where there is noise, where he wouldn’t sleep again. He crawls out of bed, his legs feel weak, shaky, they won’t take his weight and he crashes to his knees. Blindly he reaches out for something to hold to steady himself, his flailing hand hits out at his alarm clock and that too crashes to the ground. Smashed now, but Wu Fan can’t bring himself to care.

“Kev! Hey, Kevin! You ok in there?”

_Kevin?_ Wu Fan thinks. Who is Kevin? The question gives his fogged up mind something to focus on. Who is Kevin? Oh, oh _right_. He is. Name Kevin Li; place Vancouver, University of British Columbia.

Wu Fan takes a deep breath, he tries to stand up again and this time he just about manages. He’s in his dorm room, his roommate Mark cut out early for the summer. That would be Dale trying to knock down his door.

He’s fine, he’s safe. There are no monks here, no chanting and no tree trying to squeeze the life out of him. He’s fine. He’s just fine.

_“Take heed, young one. It is coming.”_

Wu Fan shakes his head, trying to clear the last vestiges of the dream. He’s going crazy, that’s all this is. He’s been studying too hard.

That’s it.

That’s it.

Wu Fan staggers to the door and fumbles with the handle, for a moment he can’t remember which way to turn it. Dale stands on the other side of the door, one hand raised mid pound.

“Uh,” Dale says, he’s surprised, like he didn’t expect Wu Fan to actually open his door. “Hey.”

Wu fan has to look up to look Dale in the eyes, especially when Dale is standing so close like this. Wu Fan is tall but Dale is huge.

“You know,” Wu Fan says, trying for a wry, unhurried tone. “I heard you the first time.” He can think straight now. Things are good, things are just fine.

“Liar.” Dales says with a frown, Dale hardly ever frowns. “You look like shit, man. You want I should call a doctor?”

A Doctor? That’s the last thing Wu Fan needs, or can afford.

“Nah, it’s just a stomach thing, something I ate.”

Dale’s worried expression screws up into a grimace of understanding and he nods. “Harsh.”

“Tell me about it.”

 

 

 

II.

 

Joonmyun counts the seconds as they tick, tick, tick by. 

1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

By the 30 second mark his lungs feel heavy. After 40 seconds his body is starting to strain for oxygen that isn’t there. Still, maybe half a minute before he really _has_ to surface. It’s peaceful down here, quiet. It feels like home. A splashing from overhead grabs his attention, he looks up to the blurry surface of the pool. The chlorine is starting to sting his eyes now, the mild pain shifting towards uncomfortable and annoying.

Above him a hazy shape swims in and out of focus and a hand reaches down through the water as if to grab at him. But Joonmyun knows he’s too far down for this person to possibly reach him.

This person. Kyuhyun. Kyuhyun is the only person who would think to come down to look for him here, which means that whatever Kyuhyun wants it must be important for him to leave his most sacred lair. Joonmyun puffs out his last breath of air; he watches the bubbles struggle upwards for a heartbeat before kicking up from his haven at the bottom of the pool and making a break for the surface. Kyuhyun has to scramble back from the edge of the water to avoid getting splashed. He doesn’t quite manage. Joonmyun can’t help but smile at the scowl on his Hyungs’ face, laughing at Kyuhyun just makes his scowl deepen. As Joonmyun hauls himself out of the pool Kyuhyun says;

“I’m not a fish, unlike you.”

Joonmyun chuckles and turns his back on Kyuhyun for a moment while he looks for his towel; he put it down here somewhere.

“Neither am I your secretary.” Kyuhyun’s half joking tone turns all too serious, the sudden shift makes Joonmyun whirl around to face his friend. Kyuhyun is still scowling, but this time Joonmyun finds nothing funny about his expression. Kyuhyun pitches a wadded up ball of something at him, Joonmyun doesn’t catch it in time and it hits him square in the face, then falls to the floor. His towel. He doesn’t bend to pick it up, he just stands there waiting, waiting for Kyuhyun to say what he came here to say.

“Your parents called me.” Kyuhyun says after a full minute of silence. “Twice.”

Joonmyun doesn’t say anything, but inside he’s thinking ‘shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.’

“They couldn’t get through to you. Apparently your cell is turned off and you are never at home to answer your home phone.” Kyuhyun continues. “So they called me. Joonmyun-ah, they’re worried about you.”

Joonmyun doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything. He’s been ducking his parents’ calls, he knows this, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He’s a good son; his parents want him to be healthy and happy. He doesn’t want to lie to them. 

“Call your parents.” Kyuhyun says sternly, but his tone lacks any real bite. “If they have to…YAH!” Kyuhyun yells and jumps back as a wave of water washes over their feet. “What the hell? Aish, I’m soaked!” Kyuhyun grumbles as he wipes ineffectively at his pants. “Did someone turn on the wave machine?” Kyuhyun looks over at the little lifeguard office at the other side of the pool. “YAH! Whoever is over there, don’t do strange stuff!”

Nothing, there is no reply, no movement.

“I don’t think there is anyone over there, Hyung.”

Kyuhyun just grunts as he sloshes over to the exit. “Then this place is haunted. Stop spending so much time here alone.” Kyuhyun stops when he gets to the door, turns around to look Joonmyun over. Joonmyun has a feeling that Kyuhyun isn’t impressed with what he sees. “Call your parents. If they have to call me again to find out how you are, I’ll tell them the truth.”

“What, that you’re not taking good care of me?” Joonmyun grins, an impish grin that Kyuhyun tries, and fails, not to return.

“Brat. I’m too busy to run around after you.”

Joonmyun can’t resist. “Too busy gaming or too busy looking at porn?”

Kyuhyun, unfortunately, doesn’t rise to the bait.

 

“Seriously, call your parents. And you look like shit, you’re not getting enough sleep.” 

It’s not a question, just a statement of fact.

Kyuhyun leaves before Joonmyun can say anything in his defence. Kyuhyun always has to have the last word. Joonmyun looks out over the pool; the water is still, no sign of anymore coming waves. Odd, maybe this place really was haunted. Not that is bothers him any. Joonmyun stands there and he thinks about calling his parents, just get it over with. He shakes his head, dismissing it for now. He’s not going to call his parents and he’s not going to sleep.

If he sleeps he’ll dream.

He leaves his towel on the tiles; it’s too wet to bother with now. He’ll throw it in the wash later and grab a spare from the changing room before he leaves here.

He slips back into the water and the water welcomes him. Gently he lets himself drift to the bottom. There are cracks in the tile down here, funny how he’s never noticed that before. The cracks spread over and around like the branches of a tree. If he watches them for too long they seem to grow, grow and spread like the branches of the tree in his dream.

But that’s just his mind playing tricks on him. It’s the chlorine messing with his eyes.

That’s it.

That’s it.

Joonmyun counts the seconds as they tick, tick, tick by. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Maybe he’ll be able to stay under longer this time.

 

 

 

III.

 

“Wu Fan.” A voice calls out to him from out in the corridor. “Oh Wu Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!”

Wu Fan freezes, his pen still pressed to the page of his notebook. He presses down so hard that the nib breaks. He feels the blood in his veins turn to ice water. That’s Dale’s sing song falsetto. That’s Dale using his real name.

“yo, Wu Fanny bo banny.” Dale says with a devilish grin as he pokes his head round the door. Wu Fan tries to smile, tries not to look as shell shocked as he feels. “A call came through for you in the R.A’s office. Some old lady, says she’s your Grandmother, or was it Godmother? I couldn’t understand her accent.”

Dale shudders and shrugs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shake off a bad memory. Wu Fan can understand that. Talking to that fearsome old crone can have that effect on a person, even if it’s only over the phone. There is something about her voice.

“You should really answer your phone, dude. Some of us have better things to do that play errand boy.” Dale says, his smile still in place. 

Wu fan tries to smile back, tries to laugh it off, but he can’t. Inside he’s reeling, he’s caught off kilter. He feels dizzy, sick, as he reaches for his cell to check for missed calls and messages. There aren’t any. His Godmother hadn’t tried to call him first before going ahead and blowing his cover.

Maybe she didn’t completely blow his cover, because Dale was still smiling, still blandly amused. Completely unaware there was something seriously wrong. Wu Fan pushes his chair away from his desk and stand; he’s surprised that his legs can still carry him. He walks stiffly passed dale and out down the corridor to the R.A’s room. He could feel Dale walking behind him, crowding in on him. Dale was one of those rare giants who was unapologetic about his height, and had no concept of personal space. Wu Fan had always liked that about him, until now.

“I thought she had the wrong number at first, no one called Wu Fan in this building. How come you have two names? That’s kinda cool.”

“It’s a family thing.” Wu Fan mumbles, he hopes Dale just accepts that and leaves it. Dale seems to do just that because he doesn’t say anything else, just ‘hmmmmms’ thoughtfully.

Robbie the R.A looks pissed when Wu Fan gets there, but he doesn’t say anything, he just hands Wu Fan the phone and leaves. He doesn’t shut the door behind him and Wu Fan doesn’t bother to close it either, it’s not like anyone will be able to understand him anyway. He can just about see the tip of Dale’s shadow as he stands outside waiting.

Wu Fan’s Godmother only speaks one sentence, short, simple.

“Come home.”

And then she hangs up.

Wu Fan stares blankly at the phone for a moment before he realizes that the people listening in outside would be expecting him to be having a conversation with a family member. So he spouts random things in Mandarin. He recites his shopping list, says a prayer he hasn’t said in a long time. All the while he’s frantically trying to work out what the old woman means.

His first thought is that she’s running a con on him, it wouldn’t be the first time. He could just picture her sitting there in her tourist trap of a shop, a gleeful grin on her weathered face.

But the more he thinks about it the worse the feeling in the pit of his stomach gets. If she wanted him to come home for selfish reasons then she would have someone else call him and say she was sick. The only time she’ll admit personal weakness would be if she could get something out of it. But she would leave him something to go back to, something to go back to after he was done rushing to do her bidding.

But if it were important, of it were life or death, if someone else from her flock was in trouble then she would so whatever she needed to. Including burning him. Dale knowing Wu Fan’s real name probably wouldn’t be a big deal in the long run, if Wu Fan came back from his unscheduled trip to China after the summer, it’s not like he was officially registered anywhere. But Wu Fan didn’t think he was going to be coming back anytime soon. Eventually someone would start to investigate and if they dig hard enough they’ll find that Kevin Li doesn’t actually exist.

When he thinks he’s talked long enough he hangs up the phone and walks out of the room. Dale is still standing there, still waiting. Something of his apprehension must show on Wu Fan’s face because Dale’s jovial expression turns serious.

“Something wrong?”

Wu Fan shrugs, fumbles for an answer. Finally he settles on something close to the truth. He likes to tell the truth when he can.

“Family thing, looks like I’ll have to take a trip home this summer. Home home.”

“Whoa, harsh.”

“Tell me about it.”

 

 

 

IV.

 

Han Geng doesn’t even want to be here, not anymore. It’s not a sudden realization he’s had. It’s more of a slow growing suspicion that’s been confirmed. It was confirmed a few weeks ago, when his uncle brought the boy here. Boy, kid, _young man_.

This last year, Han Geng had watched as his Uncle became more twisted as his faith became more fervent. Han Geng’s own faith had been next to non-existent for a while and now, now watching the man his Uncle was turning into, Han Geng wants nothing to do with it at all.

But it’s not a tug of family loyalty that keeps him here. Han Geng can’t leave. The order would find him wherever he went.

“It’s coming,” His Uncle says, his hands raised in rapture. “It’s coming my friends, last night I again dreamed of the tree.”

Han Geng tries to keep the disillusionment out of his expression. From the rapt faces of the others gathered here today, he is the only one not buying into the rhetoric. His Uncle had been dreaming about the tree every night since the boy was brought in, and he’s been recounting it in excruciating detail at every meeting since. Though honestly. Han Geng didn’t think that tree roots trying to squeeze the life out of you while also trying to rip the heart from your chest could be a metaphor for anything good.

“That which has been foretold will soon be upon us. This is the time, this is our time. We shall be the ones who will see the work of our ancestors brought to fruition.”

Han Geng bows his head as if in respect, but really he’s trying to keep his face hidden. If he had an American dollar for every time someone had a dream that prophesised the return of the Guardians he wouldn’t be living above his Mom’s dumpling shop.

“We have already discovered one of the chosen, and soon, soon fate will deliver the rest of them to us.”

Every nerve in Han Geng’s body wants to protest at this. If the boy was who his Uncle claimed his was, if he could do what Yi Feng claimed he saw him do, then the boy would have escaped long before now. There is no one here who could stop him. Han Geng doesn’t see a Guardian when he looks at the boy; he only sees the truth of the matter. Han Geng sees a scared kid who’s being held against his will by a bunch of crazy cultists.

But Han Geng doesn’t say anything. He just sits there and feels like a coward.

“The Guardians once again walk upon this Earth, an event that many of us believed we would never live to see. It is gratifying that in these dark days our faith has been rewarded.”

His uncle easily holds the attention of the small gathering, they watch avidly. Han Geng is sure that most of them daren’t even blink least they miss even one hand gesture.

“Soon they will awaken to who they really are; their true power will be revealed. They are closer to each other than even they know. That which we already have in our possession will lead them here. We, my friends, we will unite the Tree Of Life and greatness will be achieved.”

There is a disconnect, Han Geng knows, between what his Uncle says and what he actually means. Han Geng has had to study the Book of Life ever since he learned to read, he knows the legends backwards. Legend says that uniting the guardians and uniting the Tree Of Life would also unite the world; humanity would live on forever in a state of utopia. This is what the Order of the Guardians has believed since time began. There may be a few people in this far flung section of the order who still believes this, but Han Geng doubts it. He knows that what his Uncle seeks is not peace, but power.

 

 

 

The meeting doesn’t last long, they never do. The few that bother to come anymore have jobs, lives to get back to. Han Geng stays after everyone leaves because he knows his Uncle will have work for him.

“It’s exciting is it not, Geng?” His Uncle says.

Han Geng only nods; he’s unwilling to say the lie out loud.

“Yes. _Yes_. Now, go feed the boy. And make sure he eats this time, it wouldn’t do to have him starve to death on us before the others find him.”

Han Geng just nods again and leaves, grateful to be away from his Uncle’s overwhelming presence. Getting the boy to eat is almost as impossible as getting his uncle to see reason.

 

 

 

Han Geng knocks on the door to the boys’ room. Prison. He doesn’t have to; the scrape of the key in the lock is always loud enough to announce the imminent entry of a guard. But Han Geng knocks anyway. It’s cold inside the room; the thin figure huddled on the bed is shaking from more than just fear. When Han Geng returns later for the plates he thinks he’ll bring an extra blanket.

“I brought you some food.” He says softly as he sets down his tray on the rickety old table by the the bed. “Are you going to eat today, Lu Han?”

 

 

.end prologue


	2. Chapter 2

Inspector Park Jungsu is chasing a ghost, which means he is pretty much screwed. He knows he’s screwed, everyone in the department knows he’s screwed. Can’t catch a ghost, can’t actually admit you’re chasing one. Jungsu knows he’s damned if he does and he’s damned if he doesn’t.

Saying his ghost theory out loud, telling it to anyone in or outside of his department would be the fastest way to end his so far fast tracked career. Which, he supposes, was the whole point of this cluster fuck getting thrown onto his to do pile. He has another theory, of course, but that one is just as likely to land him on medical leave too.

Can’t catch a ghost. Can’t catch someone who can teleport either…

Jungsu sits at his desk in the crowded Bull Pen; he tries to tune out the clatter and chatter of voices as he concentrates on the picture in his hand. He stares at it, willing it to change, willing it to coalesce into something that makes some sort of sense. But it doesn’t. The damn thing stubbornly refuses to make any sense at all.

Jungsu tries not to sigh out his frustration. What he wants to do is rip up the picture, like that would make the problem go away. He doesn’t. People are watching him; people are waiting for him to screw up.

Can’t catch a ghost.

Damned if you do, Jungsu, and damned if you don’t

The picture is a still capture from footage caught by a CCTV camera, not exactly the best quality source to to be working from in the first place. The picture is grainy and distorted from being enlarged; the tech guys in the basement got the image to get as big as it would go before the subject of the picture was rendered to nothing but grey scale pixel squares. As it is the subject is still far from clear. Jungsu has watched the video footage almost as often as he’s looked over the still images, the video makes even less sense, if that’s even possible. At least the stills show something real, something solid. If Jungsu looks hard enough, he can almost give the shadow shrouded figure in the picture a face. All he sees on the video is a ghost.

Can’t catch a ghost. But then, ghosts can’t be caught on film, can they?

“Hyung?” A tentative voice pulls him out of his bleak thoughts. Jungsu looks up. For a heart stopping second it’s like the image in the picture has followed him out into the real world. Jungsu has to blink several times to clear the black shadows from his field of vision. There is a figure standing in front of his desk, waiting for his attention. It’s not the strange figure from the picture, but just for a moment Jungsu thought it was. No, it’s just Youngwoon.

Jungsu shakes his head. Great, now he’s imagining things.

“Hyung,” Youngwoon says again. “Hyung, are you ok?” Youngwoon’s voice is quiet, concerned. “You’ve been sitting here looking at that for over an hour.”

Jungsu blinks again, shakes his head again. Had it really been that long? He sweeps his gaze over the Bull Pen, his colleagues avert their eyes, turn their heads away. But not before Jungsu sees their self-satisfied smirks. He sees them, he sees them and he knows what they are thinking.

_The golden boy is cracking up already. That didn’t take long._

“I’m fine, Youngwoon-ah.” Jungsu says. If he is surprised at how confident he sounds, he tries not to show it.

Youngwoon nods but he doesn’t seem mollified, he continues to hover quietly. Jungsu tries to ignore him; he goes back to looking at the picture. It still makes no sense.

“You look pale, Hyung.” Youngwoon says after a full minute of silence. “Have you eaten today?”

“I’ll eat later.” Jungsu says. He looks up at Youngwoon’s worried face and he can’t help but smile, just a little. “But thank you for worrying about me.

Youngwoon smiles, a bright, brilliant smile that makes him look nothing like the bullish young police officer Jungsu has known for a few years. It makes him look younger, more innocent.

“Hyung?” Youngwoon says after another full minute of silence. “Would you like some help? I could help, I would be happy to help.”

Jungsu sighs and puts down the picture; he’s starting to get cramp in his hand.

“This case is unlikely to do your career any good.” Jungsu says. He rubs his eyes, he’s tired, halfway to exhausted.

“You know I don’t care about that.”

It was true, Jungsu did know that. Jungsu respected that. Trusted that. But did Youngwoon trust him? Jungsu didn’t know. And if he did, would that trust extend to Youngwoon believing his ghost theory…or the other just as crazy one. Youngwoon pulls a chair away from a nearby desk; he turns it round and straddles it. Resting his arms on the back rest he leans in closer to Jungsu.

“Let me help, Hyung.” Youngwoon says quietly, conspiratorially. 

Jungsu looks around the Bull Pen again, a couple of the officers are looking their way, but none are really close enough to overhear if they talk quietly.

“Ok.” Jungsu huffs out a sigh. “Ok. The suspect is either a ghost, or he can teleport. Either option is just as crazy.”

Jungsu waits, Youngwoon doesn’t answer for the longest time; Jungsu doesn’t take that as too bad a sign since Youngwoon isn’t actually laughing. Yet. Jungsu can almost see the wheels in Youngwoon’s brain churning as he thinks over what Jungsu has just said.

“What would a ghost want with money?” Youngwoon asks after a while. He asks the question so seriously that Jungsu can’t help but smile. “More to the point, what would a ghost want with 500,000 thousand Won? And since teleportation doesn’t exist in the real world, either way you look at it the footage has to be doctored. I’ve seen it, and the way that guy just appears like that…it’s like a special effect from a Hollywood movie. But why would someone go to so much trouble for so little?”

Jungsu rests his head on his hands as he thinks; his eyes flick over to the picture before he turns his gaze back to Youngwoon. Around them the bull pen has returned to normal activity, no one is paying attention to them anymore. Jungsu has asked himself these questions already, but still he doesn’t have an answer. Why would someone break into a bank just for 500,000 Won and how could someone break into a bank and leave no trace of any kind of break in?

“The best techs in the department have thoroughly analysed the footage already and they maintain that it hasn’t been altered in any way.” 

Jungsu thinks back over what he said, he can feel an answer there somewhere, somewhere just out of his reach. _The best techs in the department_. The best techs _we_ have.

It’s like a light bulb going off over his head, so bright and brilliant that he’s surprised no one else can see it.

“That’s it!” He says. He stands up quickly, his chair almost toppling over from the force of the movement. “That’s it!”

People look his way, he’s aware of snide smiles and low remarks about his sanity, but he doesn’t care. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this before. The footage had to have been altered; the right people just hadn’t looked it over yet. The best techs they had were good but Jungsu knew someone better. Much better. He ignores Youngwoon’s confused protestations as he quickly gathered up his things, shoving the stack of still pictures from the video into his bag. He pockets the flash drive with the actual footage and turns to go.

“Thank you, Youngwoon-ah.” He says. “You’ve been a big help.”

“I have?” Youngwoon says brightly. “Wait, what did I do?”

 

 

 

||

 

 

 

Wu Fan isn’t listening to what the old Taxi driver is saying. Under normal circumstances he’d be more than happy to let the mindless chatter wash over him, a welcome distraction and a potential goldmine of information. Beijing Taxi Drivers knew more about what was going on in the area than anyone else. But these were far from normal circumstances.

Wu Fan wonders if his driver knows they are being followed. Probably not.

He turns slightly in his seat to try and peek out of the rear window again. Yes, the dark sedan that has been following since he was picked up at the airport is still there, still following. They are only three cars behind now, still following and getting closer, that can’t be a good sign. Wu Fan wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee, especially not one like this.

How did they know where to find him? He hadn’t even told the old woman exactly when he was flying in. How long had they been out there waiting for him? And how long would they be content to just follow him?

“Old woman,” Wu Fan mutters. “Who have you pissed off this time?”

It’s taking him too long to find his bearings; it’s been a few years since he was last here. He’s close to the old woman’s shop now, or at least he thinks he is. He has to be. If whoever is following him knew enough to be at the airport waiting for him, then it’s likely they already know where he’s going. Which would mean they would probably try to intercept him before he got there, or else why would they bother following him at all.

Wu fan doesn’t like this. He’s been home for all of an hour and already he’s wishing he hadn’t come at all.

Best to get rid of his tail now, or at least try to. But there isn’t much he can do about losing them while he’s sat in this Taxi.

“Could you pull over?” Wu Fan says to the driver. “Let me out here.”

“Are you sure? This isn’t the best part of town.”

Wu fan knows they are are long way from the best part of town. The place he was originally headed for wasn’t much better than here.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Ok, your funeral.”

Wu Fan hopes that statement isn’t some kind of prophecy. 

The Driver smoothly and very suddenly pulls over to the side of the road, ignoring the blaring horns and angry gestures from cars and pedestrians alike. The locks on the car doors click closed as the driver waits for Wu Fan to fumble in his back pack for the fare. Wu Fan knows it’s just a precaution, the locking of the car doors doesn’t mean the Taxi Driver means him any harm. But still, a thrill of fear crawls down his spine. He doesn’t like being confined, even for a short while. His hands shake as he hands the money over; shake so much he almost drops it. The driver just tsks and then meticulously counts the money twice before he opens the door and lets Wu Fan out.

The Taxi pulls away again with a squeal of tires and yet more blaring horns, but Wu fan barely even notices it. He’s too busy looking for the sedan, his heart beating too frantically in his chest when he can’t immediately find it. Wait, there it is. It’s stopped at the crossing just passed where Wu Fan got out of the Taxi. Wu Fan supposed it couldn’t just have pulled over when Wu fan’s Taxi did, it would have been too obvious that they were following then. So what were they going to do now?

Or maybe, maybe they weren’t following him at all; maybe it was just coincidence that the car was behind him all the way. Maybe, maybe the lack of sleep is making him paranoid.

Maybe.

The back doors of the sedan open and two men get out. One tall, one not so, both dressed in black. From the way the first one his holding his arms slightly out to the side, Wu Fan guesses he’s packing a side arm. The two men unhurriedly weave their way through the traffic; Wu Fan feels his stomach lurch when he realizes that Goons #1 and #2 are walking towards him.

So, not paranoid then.

He doesn’t run, though he wants to. He forces himself to remain calm, in control; it’s far too early to start panicking. He shifts his back pack farther onto his shoulder and shoves his hands into his pockets. Then he calmly and casually turns around and starts walking. The two men follow, but they are keeping a slow pace too. They hang back, watching, waiting. He has to try and lose them somehow, somewhere among the back streets; he used to know those so well. He has to try and lose them without getting hopelessly lost himself.

 

 

 

||

 

 

 

Chanyeol balks at walking passed the small group of boys. It’s not a particularly intimidating group, but still Chanyeol doesn’t want to pass them. He knows they are there because they are waiting for him.

He wasn’t expecting to find them here; he had chosen to walk this way _because_ they wouldn’t be here. And yet, here they were. Their territory was on the other side of Hongdae and his territory was anywhere they weren’t. They haven’t seen him yet, but only because their attention was focused on a group of high school girls walking in the opposite direction. He knows that as soon as the pretty girls have gone then their attention would be refocused. Maybe their usual territory isn’t offering them any sport today, Chanyeol thinks bitterly, today must be his lucky day. 

Chanyeol checks his watch, damn it, he doesn’t have time to double back and walk around them. He’s going to be late for work as it is. He ducks his head and pulls his hoodie further down to cover more of his face in the vain hopes that he won’t be seen. Yeah, because someone wearing a dark hoodie on a sweltering summers days isn’t going to stand out. Stupid, Chanyeol thinks, really stupid. But, he’s almost passed them now, just a little further. Just a little further.

“Don’t look this way.” Chanyeol mummers just under his breath. “Please, please don’t look this way.” It’s a futile prayer because, of course, one of them does look his way.

There is never a crowd of foreign tourists around when you really need one to hide behind.

“Fire starter! Fire starter!” Someone calls out. “Fire starter, fire starter!”

Chanyeol doesn’t have to look up to recognize the voice; he’s been the brunt of this person’s insults ever since he was old enough to know he was being insulted. Jonggu, AKA G-Dawg, wannabe gangster and oldest member of the gang. Too old now, really too old to be hanging out with a group that’s not long out of high school. Chanyeol would think he was pathetic but he’s too busy trying to pretend that his words don’t hurt as much as they do. 

Since he’s given up trying to defend himself, pretending not to care is all Chanyeol’s got left. 

“Hey freak!” Another boy yells out. “Show us your pretty face!”

Bumsoo. That really does hurt, Bumsoo used to be his friend.

Chanyeol sniffs back tears he won’t let himself cry. He’s not going to let this get to him this time, he won’t.

“Fire starter!” The rest of the boys take up the chorus, singing cheerfully like it’s a happy sing along. They sing out in roaring sing song falsettos that attract the attention of everyone around. Chanyeol can feel people staring at him now, can feel the burn of their accessing gazes through the material of his hood. He pulls his hood down further. He quickens his pace and doesn’t look up at anyone. He can handle the insults, he can eventually let them go and not dwell on them. What he can’t handle is people looking at him, looking at him with fear in their eyes. Like he’s dangerous.

 

G-dawg and his crew don’t follow him for long, they never do. Brave enough they are in their little group, safe on the crowded streets. But they never try to corner him or follow him to somewhere less populated, just in case. Just in case the rumours really are true.

_Don’t get too close to Chanyeol. Things burn when he’s around._

A wave of frustration washes over him and he fights the urge to scream and shout and kick. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair!

“Where did you get it from, Jongin?”

Chanyeol stops walking and looks up when he hears voices. His hood slips down a little and he quickly grabs it back up in case whoever is around sees his face. He blinks as he looks around, surprised at where he’s ended up. He vaguely recognizes the place, but it’s not somewhere he’s been often. He was too busy trying to get away from G-dawg and friends that he didn’t pay attention to where he was going. He must have taken a wrong turn by the bakery because now he has gone too far south, he can hear the gentle rush of the river. Now that he’s looking where he is going he sees the bridge and sees the construction debris from where contractors are repairing part of the bridge structure. It’s a wonder he didn’t trip over it and break his leg. He sighs; he is really, really going to be late for work now.

He turns to go, but stops when another voice speaks up.

“If I tell you, Hyung, then I would have to kill you.” The second voice carries a joking tone, but Chanyeol detects a note of seriousness that sends a shiver down his spine.

He looks around again, but he can’t see anything but shadows playing around the concrete posts that mark the start of the bridge. Huh, apparently he’s not the only one who doesn’t want to be seen. 

“I don’t like this, Jongin-ah. It’s not right.” The first voice says.

“Don’t worry, Hyung. It’s only a few Won, they’ll never even miss it and we need it.”

“It’s not that, Jongin-ah. It’s how you got, where you got it. Do you have any idea what they might do to you if they caught you?”

“No jail can hold me.” 

“Jail isn’t what I’m worried about.”

There is a snort of laughter; Chanyeol assumes it’s from the second voice. A cocky ‘I’m invincible’ kind of laugh. There is a part of him that is fully aware that listening in to clandestine conversations that take place under bridges where one party has already admitted to being a thief, is not a good recipe for continued good health. But Chanyeol finds himself creeping closer anyway, drawn in by the mystery. It’s not like he’s going to go running to tell someone anything he overhears, especially not the police. They’d never believe him anyway, they never have before.

The voices sound young and vaguely familiar and Chanyeol is too curious, it’s always been his problem.

Carefully, very carefully, Chanyeol edges closer to where he thinks the voices are coming from, but then he has to double back because there is no one there. Sounds carry around water and he finds who he is looking for a little further away than he thought they would be. The voices had been so clear; he had thought the owners were right next to him. He recognizes both of them, but their names escape him, lost somewhere in the short time between dropping out of school and now. One of the two boys is leaning back against one of the concrete posts, arms held casually and easily at his side. He’s looking up at the underside of the bridge and at first glance it looks like he’s not listening to what the other is saying to him. But Chanyeol can tell that he is, can tell by his thoughtful expression. Chanyeol thinks he might be a year or so younger than himself, younger than his companion.

The other boy stands to stiff attention, his arms folded over his chest. Chanyeol thinks that the pose might look more imposing if the guy were just that little bit taller. As it is, his stern expression comes off as more cute and slightly confused. This guy, Chanyeol thinks, this guy might have been in the same class as him at school, when Chanyeol went to school that is. He racks his brain for a name and can only come up with Kyung. Kyung-something.

“You’re always worried about something.” The younger one, Jongin, says.

“Be serious.” Kyung-something retorts.

“Don’t be so uptight, Hyung. Jongin says, his tone half pleading half laughing. “Now we’ll be able to eat tonight, and speaking of eating let’s go. I’m starving.”

Chanyeol backs up so fast that he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to move away when he hears the two boys start to walk towards him. He steadfastly keeps his head down as he walks, determinedly not looking behind him, not looking to see if the two are following him. He walks fast and he doesn’t stop until he’s at Mr Byun’s bookstore mumbling apologies for being so hopelessly late.

 

 

 

||

 

 

 

“Try to be quiet, Hyung.” Joonmyun hears Kyuhyun say in that obnoxious stage whisper people adopt around other people who are sleeping. “You’ll wake him.” 

That’s the thing with Kyuhyun’s apartment, it’s large and expensive but the walls are made of paper. 

Joonmyun thinks about letting Kyuhyun know that he’s already awake. But he finds that actually opening his eyes is harder to do than think, they feel heavy, crusted shut. He slept too long and too deep, he feels the dull, lingering after effects of a sleeping pill. Kyuhyun, Joonmyun thinks, you bastard.

“Wake who?” The Hyung Kyuhyun was talking to says in that same loud whisper. Joonmyun is pretty sure that the two voices would be less disruptive if they just talked quietly. 

“Shhh, come this way, we can talk through here.”

Joonmyun hears footsteps, two people walking softly towards the room he is in. One set of footsteps stops; the other continues to come closer. Kyuhyun, Joonmyun guesses, Kyuhyun stopped outside the door to his study and this would be Kyuhyun’s friend come to investigate.

“Who have you got in here, Kyuhyunnie?”

Joonmyun turns his head away and feigns still being asleep. He’ll wait until the friend leaves to go talk with Kyuhyun privately and then he’ll attempt to get up and leave. Now that Kyuhyun has important company he might not want to have Joonmyun hanging around. He doesn’t really want to leave, though. It’s peaceful here, just listening to the gentle click click of Kyuhyun working on his computer. He doesn’t want to return to his apartment and be alone.

“Stop calling me that.” Kyuhyun says irritably. “And come on, Hyung, you’re the one who said you have something important for me to look at.”

“Yes, I do.” The visitor says, his voice suddenly serious. He doesn’t even try to whisper now, Joonmyun has a feeling that his sleeping act didn’t quite work. “I need your help, Kyuhyun.” Joonmyun hears the visitor start to walk away. “Hey,” the friend says, loudly. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he? What happened to the other guy you were seeing?”

Kyuhyun sighs, long and loud. “Zhou Mi went back to China, Joonmyun is 20 and oh my god, Hyung, it’s not even like that! Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“He is sleeping in your bed.” The visitor says, his voice is mild but Joonmyun hears every one of the implications. 

Is that where he is? Joonmyun thinks vaguely, in Kyuhyun’s bed.

“It’s not like I was using it.” Kyuhyun mutters. “And at least if he sleeps here then I _know_ he’s sleeping.”

“Careful, Kyuhunnie, that almost sounds like you caring about someone other than yourself.”

“I told you, stop calling me that…”

Joonmyun doesn’t hear the rest of what Kyuhyun says, he hears snatches of affronted words before the door to Kyuhyun’s inner sanctum closes and he can’t hear anything more. Kyuhyun’s study is soundproofed, though Kyuhyun has never told him why. Joonmyun shrugs and turns over onto his side. Whoever has come to visit obviously doesn’t know Kyuhyun all that well, Kyuhyun cares more than he likes people to think. That knowledge is almost enough to make Joonmyun forgive the sleeping pill. Almost.

He yawns and stretches; he hears and feels his spine pop. He slept well, deeply and blissfully dreamlessly, but he’s going to be stiff for the rest of the day. Kyuhyun’s bed is far from comfortable, the mattress too hard. Eventually, reluctantly he gets out of bed. He’s not sure how long Kyuhyun’s guest intends to stay but Joonmyun figures the least he can do is to go and make coffee since Kyuhyun didn’t even bother to offer. He has to fumble around to find his shirt, he can’t believe that Kyuhyun took it off him, no wonder his friend jumped to the wrong conclusions. At least he was still wearing the sweatpants he had on when he came over last night.

To get to the kitchen, Joonmyun has to pass by Kyuhyun’s study which is next to his bedroom. As he passes he puts his head close to the door, not really expecting to hear anything, still he’s curious about what they could be doing in there. He can’t hear anything and he’s ashamed of even trying, but he can’t seem to pull himself away. He has this vague feeling that he’s missing something, something important. The feeling tugs at him, nags at him. He pulls himself away from the door, tries to shake off the strange feeling, but he can’t. The feeling follows him through to the kitchen where he jabs at the buttons on the coffee maker with more force than is necessary. The machine whirrs to life with a mournful moan. It’s old; maybe Joonmyun should buy Kyuhyun a new one, since he is the one that uses it most.

Kyuhyun’s guest is ready to leave before the coffee is finished brewing.

Joonmyun pokes his head round the door, half hoping to get a look at the stranger before he leaves, but trying not to look too keen about it. Kyuhyun sees him.

“Joonmyun-ah, friend who I am not sleeping with.” Kyuhyun says cheerily, he slants a pointed look at his friend who just just ignores it. “You’re awake at last, come over here and meet Inspector Park of the Seoul metropolitan PD.

_Inspector?_

“Inspector? Really?” Joonmyun says, he hopes that he’s the only one who hears the squeak in his voice. He throws Kyuhyun a confused glance, but Kyuhyun either doesn’t see it or ignores it. Warily Joonmyun walks over to them. He had always gotten the impression that part of the reason that Kyuhyun never talked about what what he did for a living was because it wasn’t always entirely legal.

“It’s nice to meet you, Joonmyun-sshi.” Inspector Park says with a little too much sincerity. 

Inspector Park doesn’t look like much of an inspector to Joonmyun. He looks too young, too frail, though Joonmyun is one to talk when it comes to those things. Joonmyun doesn’t reply to the inspector which he knows is terribly rude, but he still can’t shake the strange feeling that he is missing something. The feeling only intensifies when he looks at Inspector Park. The inspector seems familiar, Joonmyun has a feeling that he has seen him before. A soft, dream like feeling. Too much like a dream.

“Well, I’ll be going now.” The Inspector says after an uncomfortable minute of silence.

“I’ll walk you out, Hyung.” Kyuhyun says and both he and the Inspector walk off towards the door, talking in quiet murmurs. 

“I made coffee.” Joonmyun says when the Inspector is gone.

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” Kyuhyun says with a smile. Joonmyun can’t help but note that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

 

 

||

 

 

 

Wu Fan turns right when he should have turned left. He curses his mistake in every language he knows, which is quite a few. That would be panic setting in finally, he thinks, once he stops running long enough to let himself think clearly. It’s not that being quietly stalked by men with guns is something new and exciting, but it is something he has grown unused to. No men with guns had cause to chase him in Canada.

“I wish I was in Canada.” Wu Fan mutters as he gently pushes aside the back curtain of a market tent. He’s careful not to upset the display of wicker baskets—or the stall owner who glares at him as he ducks passed.

His wrong turn took him to a dead end and a small but busy market, mainly made up of street food vendors and stalls selling oddments to tourists. The spicy tang of the various foods on offer makes his mouth water and Wu fan is reminded that he hasn’t eaten since he got on the plane. He’s tired and he’s hungry and he doesn’t have time to remedy any of those conditions until he can lose the Goons and get back to his Godmother’s place. Of course, Goons #1 and #2 would just follow him there eventually, but at least there he would have some measure of protection. Out here all alone, he’s just floundering.

He eases himself through the throng of people, looking for signs of his pursuers while still trying to keep himself hidden. The constant ducking and weaving is starting to give him a pain in his neck, not to mention the strange looks he is starting to draw from some of the vendors—and the vendors are likely to have seen some strange things in their time. Damn it, what was it his Godmother used to tell him? The easiest thing to do was hide in a crowd, all you had to do was blend in, pretend like you belong there. The best way to stand out from the crowd was to act suspicious, which was exactly what Wu Fan had been doing. Stupid, he thinks, stupid, stupid, stupid. He’s been to long away, this isn’t his life anymore.

He straightens up but not to his full height, because that would be another good way for him to stand out since he stands head and shoulders over almost everyone else. He turns to face the first stall he comes to, a chuanr vendor. He smiles at the old man behind the stall and is rewarded with a toothy grin.

“What’s good today?” Wu fan asks. The toothy grin gets wider as the old man points to the rack of starfish chuanr. Wu Fan’s smile turns into a grimace but he buys the starfish anyway. There is a memory, something just out of his reach, half forgotten. A memory of a starfish chuanr related accident, a hazy recollection of him and another boy, someone he hasn’t thought of in years. He has a feeling the incident was pretty painful. Wu Fan smiles sadly and turns away from the stall and, of course, that’s when he walks right into Goon #2. He’s not sure which of them is more surprised. 

Wu Fan recovers from the nasty shock first, recovers enough to get a good long look as his would be assailant. Goon #2 is about a head shorter than his comrade, squat and muscular, a tattoo of barbed wire badly covers a scar around his left eye. There are several other tattoos, inked across his neck and down both his arms. It’s the tattoos that scare Wu Fan, have his heart beating if not in terror then something that feels a lot like it. Swirling tribal art mixed with Chinese characters and, down his left arm, Wu Fan can clearly make out the bright blaze of a phoenix design. Triad. The thought that these guys might be Triad had been floating in the back of his mind, held at bay only by the knowledge that his Godmother has the good business not to get involved with the Triad.

Apparently that wasn’t quite true. Shit and damn.

Goon #2 doesn’t show any outward sign of carrying a weapon but Wu Fan isn’t planning on sticking around to find out what and where he is hiding it. Instinct kicks in, and he hits out with the only weapon he has to hand—the starfish chuanr. Goon #2 screams as one of the starfish’s rays hits him in his already scarred eye. Goon #2 reaches up to clutch at his face and Wu Fan shoves passed him breaking into a fast run. Wu Fan runs left when he should have run to the right and he curses in several languages again. The consequences of his lousy sense of direction could potentially be fatal.

The Dead end he finds himself in now is a narrow alleyway and it’s only a dead end because of the corrugated iron wall blocking off the alley half way down. The work looks shoddy and hastily done and Wu Fan curses whatever shop owner thought to have it put up. The wall itself is almost as tall as he is and he wonders if he tries to jump it, would it collapse under him? He hears shouts from behind him, confused cries from bystanders and an angry roar from Goon #2 who was still coming after him.

No going back the way he came.

”Think light thoughts, Wu Fan.” He mumbles to himself as he starts to run. He’s always been good at athletics, sports. His Jump shot is a thing of beauty or so Dale used to tell him. But as he reaches for the top of the wall and prepares to leap he’s not sure he’s going to make it. Jumping to put a ball through a hoop and hauling yourself over an iron wall are two things worlds apart.

But make it he does. He closes his eyes and leaps and for one heart stopping second he feels like he’s flying. He lands easily at the other end of the alley, or almost the other end. He doesn’t have time to look back over the distance he just travelled. He doesn’t have time to process what just happened because right then is when Goon #1 turns into the mouth of the alley.

“This just isn’t my day.” Wu Fan grumbles. Goon #1 sees him and lunges. Wu Fan ducks to the left, spins round and plants his foot in the small of Goon #1’s back shoving him over. Goon #1 face plants on the concrete with a satisfying crunch. Wu Fan turns to run again but is stopped by a fist that catches him hard in the solar plexus. All the air rushes out from his lungs and he gasps for breath as he swings out with his back pack, hitting out ineffectively at Goon #2. Goon #2 punches him in the stomach again, and again, and again, several times in quick succession. Wu Fan feels himself losing the fight, it makes him angry but not more effective at stopping it from happening.

WU Fan feels himself going down, down, down, down.

“Stop hitting him, you fool.” Goon #1 says, his voice raw and thick sounding. “We need him conscious.” 

The only thing holding Wu Fan up now is the arm Goon #2 has around his waist. An embrace that would have been tender if Goon #2 hadn’t been using his hold as leverage to hit Wu Fan harder in the stomach. Goon #2 lets go and Wu Fan crumples to the ground. Goon #1 staggers around to stand in front of him, his face is covered in blood, his nose obviously broken. That gives Wu Fan a small measure of satisfaction—very small considering his situation. Goon #1 bends down; leans in close, his breath smells awful. Wu Fan tries to pull back but Goon #1 just leans in closer. Wu Fan notes vaguely that Goon #1 has almost the same tattoos as #2 except the tattoo on his arm is a dragon. Wu Fan’s vision starts to blur, Goon #1’s face goes in and out of focus, Wu Fan smiles despite himself. The want him conscious, well they are not going to get it.

“We have a message for you to give to the old woman.” Goon #1 says but Wu Fan barely hears him and he doesn’t hear what the message actually is because his vision dims and fades and everything goes blissfully black.

 

He’s not sure how long he was out. When he comes too he’s vaguely aware of hands, someone touching him. The soft, gentle touches are a far cry from the rough ministrations of Goons #1 and #2. He tries to open his eyes but everything around him is too bright, too loud.

“Don’t sit up.” The person with the gentle touch says. Wu Fan wasn’t even aware that he had tried. “Geng-ge, help me with him.”

This person, whoever his helping him, has a voice almost as soft as their hands. Wu Fan could drown in that voice and be happy.

“Geng-ge!” The gentle voice says urgently. “He’s passing out again.”

Passing out sounds like a good idea, Wu Fan thinks idly. He doesn’t even try to fight the blackness as it takes over again.


End file.
